


Tangled

by dehautdesert



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Violence, horrible things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dehautdesert/pseuds/dehautdesert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Theon lied to cover up Ramsay's abuse, and one time he told the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally got an A03 account, and this little fic is the first thing I'm posting to it, so things may go wrong. It was written a year or so ago for the ASOIAF Kink Meme on LJ, I'm now not entirely sure where on the meme it is though. Here goes nothing!

1.  
It's not a fancy party, nowhere near it, but the champagne is apparently a good vintage, even if Theon can barely taste it or anything else for that matter, and everyone seems happy enough with the results. Lannister and Stark, friends again. Well, not friends, rather, and hardly 'again' either, but they're not trying to tear each other's throats out, and that's a feat amazing enough in itself.

It's a bit funny though, the looks Edmure Tully, Roslin Frey and Robb are getting from various attendees. 

Robb. What a moron. How had he thought chucking Roslin aside for the sake of some random tart he'd met clubbing would ever work out well?

 _Because you weren't there to tell him otherwise,_ a voice that sounds uncomfortably like Asha's tells him in his head.

He could almost laugh at it though—as if the great Robb Stark had ever listened to his dubious 'wisdom'. 

Still, he might have warned him off enough that...

_Shit._

Robb's eyes suddenly fall on him and his smile drops off his face like a ton of bricks. Theon downs the rest of the champagne in one gulp so he'll have an excuse not to meet his eyes, but when he looks again the eyes are still on him. Not as harsh as Ned Stark's are, not a bit of it, but there's enough of that ghost in them to unnerve Theon.

But he laughs it off. Stares back as if to challenge Robb.

Flinches, when Robb accepts the challenge.

"Enjoying yourself, Greyjoy?" he asks him, icily.

Theon snorts. "Time of my life, Stark," he says.

 

"We're going to sort this out, you and me," Robb promises him, and with Robb it is a promise, make no mistake. Theon can see that same promise in Catelyn Stark's eyes, when he glances at her on the other side of the room. He doesn't dare look across to her husband.

Instead, his eyes turn towards _Him_. He's on the other side of the room with Robb's sisters and that friend of Sansa's, Jeyne or Jenna or something. A part of Theon wants to warn Robb that supervising that conversation might be an idea, but the rest of him is caught in that terrible gaze.

Robb sees his gaze, and comments, "That's the one who brought you in? They should have kicked him off the force for contaminating evidence. Did you pay him to do it?"

 _Not yet,_ thinks Theon, though he already wishes it was over. The price of His silence has been being paid for the past few weeks, and while it's nothing _bad_ as of yet (except, perhaps, that one incident), it brims with the promise of worse things yet to come, just as certain as Robb's own promised reckoning.

"To do what?" He asks, his tone as dismissive as he can make it without being too obvious that he's not really dismissive of the incident .

He fools Robb. The younger man grabs his elbow harshly, and though Theon's first impulse is to punch him, he manages to quash it down.

"To break the chain of custody!" Robb hisses at him. "So you'd get away with burning down my house! If my brothers had been inside—"

"They weren't inside, Stark," he tells him. 

"Well, I'm so glad that you threw them out onto the streets before you lit the match. You bastard. After everything my father did for you—"

He tunes it out. He hadn't thrown Bran or Rickon out of the house, they'd left of their own accord, not knowing how to confront his drunken ramblings while they knew he was already in so much trouble with the Starks for botching Balon Greyjoy's trial. They'd probably been afraid; he'd give them that, but then Robb must know this already.

What he doesn't know, though...

His thoughts end when he realises abruptly that He is still looking at him, and His false smile is being pushed off his face by growing anger.

_"It's the simplest thing in the world, really. No one will believe you didn't start the fire, not with how things were between you and the Starks. And I'd already planned on blaming you for it, that you actually turned up there was Christmas come early!"_

_"Please. Please, I won't tell them anything about you, but I can't go to prison, please!"_

_"No, no your father's enemies would get at you in there wouldn't they? Well, while there's more than enough evidence to convict you, things could drag out a bit if you decided to start pointing fingers... and there are other ways you could be useful to me..._

_"God, please, I'll do anything!"_

"—and you don't even have the balls to admit it," Robb is finishing, and anger gets a hold of Theon for the moment.

"You know what?" he says, still in control enough to keep his voice low, "You're wrong. I will admit it—I poured gasoline all over that shithole and lit a match, just so I could see the look on your stupid, smug face. Now fuck off."

Robb is clearly so angry that he doesn't know what to say. It makes Theon think of a few days ago, when He had insisted Theon accompany him to a club—their 'first date', He'd said, jokingly. He thinks of being in the club bathroom, some girl sucking him off while He watched. He thinks of Him, coming up behind him and rubbing his hands all over him, (and the girl, but mostly him), of trying to make Him stop but being so wasted he couldn't co-ordinate his hands enough to push Him away.

He thinks of the way He'd tweaked his nipple as he came and left him speechless. The pain had made the orgasm all the sweeter, but it had been done so harshly that the bruise was still there, still throbbing whenever Theon made the wrong movement.

But he'd been more confused than angry. He'd have liked to think he was angry, but...

Robb turns and stalks away furiously. _What a moron_ Theon thinks, as the words 'Wait, please, there's something I need to tell you!' rise in his throat and stick there.

 

2.

A file as thick as a man's hand is slammed down on the table next to his head, waking him up. 

"You dumb cunt," Asha spits at him.

He closes his eyes and turns his head away from her, as if it was looking at the contempt in her eyes that was causing the agony in his brain and not the hangover. 

Well, maybe it's both.

"Piss off," he greets her. 

"You told that bastard where to find the lab at Moat Cailin!"

He's still a bit out of it from the night before, and right now not even entirely sure where he is. It must be for that reason he says, "What bastard?"

"The fucking wanker that brought you in after you oh-so-brilliantly burned down Ned Stark's house."

"I didn't—"

"Everyone knows you did, Theon! And everyone in the North wants you dead for it, they all think you meant to off the brats as well. Your only hope was for Dad to take you in but he's not going to when he finds out you fucking ratted us out!"

A rat? The words are beginning to make sense now, as words at least if not as concepts. What did she mean, 'rat them out'? He'd talked about the Starks, that was part of the arrangement, but he hadn't said anything about his father's people. 

"I never said anything about—"

Asha grabs the edge of the file and flips it open, furiously. There's a large photograph right there on the top of the papers, and Theon wonders whether or not his sister has somehow gotten an actual police report. Whatever it is, the photograph is of him. And Him.

And Theon suddenly remembers.

_Why did you bring me here?"_

_"Just to watch. It's a drug bust. Lots of fun."_

_"Wait... this is Moat Cailin!"_

_"You recognise it? Is that because the proceeds they make here go straight into your father's pockets?"_

_..._

_"Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue? I'll tell you now, love, lie to me and you'll wish it had been a cat."_

_"I don't know! My dad doesn't tell me any of this stuff, he doesn't trust me with it, ask my sister!"_

_"... Maybe I will."_

_"No. Please don't."_

He swallows, and looks at the photograph of him, smiling, standing next to Him, who's facing away from the camera. He'd been very insistent on making him smile as he'd hammered out the terms of their agreement, and though Theon looks hard, he can't see any hint of what had really been going on in his face.

"I..." he starts.

"Fucking hell, Theon—when Dad finds out—"

"Don't tell him, Asha; please! I swear I didn't tell on anyone, I didn't even—well, I mean, I did say so, but only after he'd already brought me there."

Asha frowns. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't... it was just on our way, he needed to get some paperwork from me, that was it."

He really doesn't know enough about his father's empire to wreck it by giving information to Ramsay. Apart from the incident he perjured himself for, and the stuff at Deepwood Motte, he doesn't know anything at all—and he's pretty sure He already knows about that.

But he can't rat Him out either. There's no one to protect him from the consequences now, he knows Balon will never believe he had nothing to do with this, he already doesn't trust him.

Asha looks like she's considering the matter, for whatever that's worth.

"We have someone on the inside," she tells him. "He'll bring us the truth of it either way."

 _No he won't,_ thinks Theon. _He'll find something that'll say I told Him. Something He'll have put there for that purpose._

His heart sinks like the debris from all the bridges that He is burning around him.

"Who gave you that?" Asha asks him casually, nodding at the side of his face that's somewhere between black and purple.

_"Stop it, you bastard!"_

_Pain._

_"Don't. Ever. Call me. That. You call me by my name, or I'll see you never say anything else again."_

"No one," he groans. "I don't remember, I was wasted."

His sister rolls her eyes. For a moment it looks like she wants to say more, but in the end she groans and turns her back.

A part of him is worried that without her he's in this too deep. When this started, He'd said it wouldn't last long, that He'd find someone else to play with. A couple of weeks at most, He'd said. It's been three, and Theon might not have anyone left to go to when it's over.

If it's ever over.

He dismisses those thoughts though. He's Theon Greyjoy, he doesn't need any of them to come help him. He's fine on his own.

It'll probably be over soon.

 

3.

Two months later, it's only gotten worse. Much worse.

His hands are shaking when he puts the larger of the First Aid kits into his basket, though he's glad they're covering up the condoms. It's embarrassing, really—he used to buy boxes of the things, more than he ever really used, and then wink at the cashiers when they scanned the barcodes.

Now it's as if anyone who sees them is going to know what they're for, and he can't stand the thought.

He drops a coke into the basket along with the rest and heads over to the checkout. The cashier asks him for his card and he pulls one out; not his card, this one belongs to Him. Balon's cut him off, as he'd known he would, and it's not like he has a job or anything. He has nowhere else to go.

"Going camping?" the cashier asks him. She seems to have ignored the condoms at least. 

"Huh?" he says, feeling like an idiot.

She holds up the First Aid kit. "A lot of people go this time of year," she tells him, and scans it. "They buy one just in case."

"Oh. No, we were, uh, just going to have it around the house."

The cashier smiles. "That's probably wise," she tells him, and he can't help but think— _does she know?_ Is that why she'd told him it was wise?

He knows that He has people everywhere, after all. 

No, that's stupid, even for him to think. 

Just as he's leaving the store his phone rings, and there's really only one person who phones him these days, so he answers as fast as he can, and with trembling hands.

"Hello?" 

_"What are you doing? Get back here now!"_

He sounds angry. Theon doesn't understand, He'd told him explicitly to go out and do this for Him. He'd said so. He had.

"You told me to go to—"

_"Are you questioning me?"_

"I'm not questioning anything," Theon snaps back, annoyed. He knows it's a mistake as soon as he says it, but he hadn't been able to resist. Half a year ago he'd have punched someone who'd talked to him like that.

The silence that follows speaks volumes. Eventually Theon hears the dial tone and the phone almost slips from his fingers.

Every step he takes after that fills him with more dread than the one before, until he's practically screaming inside his head. But he can't not go back to Him, he has nowhere else to go.

Unless he uses His money. It would be stealing, technically, but maybe if...

No. The father's replaced Ned Stark as Northern Commissioner after that disastrous false truce with the Lannisters fell through. They'd find him, and when they did they'd bring him to Him before they went anywhere else.

 _It's okay,_ he tells himself. _He'll forget about me soon. He'll move on. If He doesn't, some other opportunity will come along and I'll seize it. I can still fix this somehow._

When he gets back to His house, there's another man waiting there, and at first Theon's afraid, because He has threatened the involvement of other men now and then; and things much worse than that.

But he needn't have worried, or at least not because of that. It's His father that's come to visit. Roose Bolton.

"Theon," he greets. It's the first time Theon's heard his name spoken in weeks and he almost doesn't recognise the word. 

Suddenly ungainly, he drops the plastic bag he was carrying to shake Bolton's hand, and tries not to look directly into the man's eyes as he does so. He doesn't know how to greet him in return, and enough time passes that saying anything is just going to draw attention to that fact. Without him meaning to, his eyes glance over to Him, to seek approval. 

Far from approving, He looks more furious than before, and something must have been showing on Theon's face in turn, because Bolton tilts his head and turns towards his son.

"Problem?" he asks Him.

No answer. 

"I asked you if there was a problem."

"There isn't!" he snaps.

 

Now it's Bolton who doesn't answer. He just looks at Theon, and places himself between him and Him.

"And is everything all right with you, Theon?"

Theon knows it's more than just a courtesy. Bolton doesn't approve of much of what his son does, He's said as much and Bolton probably knows that Theon knows this. The real question is simple enough—has He been doing anything that threatens the Bolton master plan? The answer is yes, many of His pointless abuses of power would bring the whole thing crashing down if they were ever discovered. The way to explain this is to say 'no'.

Peering over Bolton's shoulder, He gives him a look that's meaning exists in no uncertain terms.

"Yes," Theon whispers.

"Excellent," says Bolton. Theon knows immediately he doesn't believe him.

_"If my father finds out about that thing with the dogs he won't be happy. He might drop in now and then to check up on me, but while you're under my roof you keep my secrets. If he loses trust in me because of you, I won't be happy."_

Panic flares, and Theon knows he's going to have to do better—to do something, to stop Him from thinking it's his fault or stop Bolton from thinking there's anything wrong with what his son is getting up to. Well, anything he'd consider wrong.

"There's just not much to do, you know?" he says. Bolton looks at him curiously; an invitation to continue. "I mean, obviously someone in my position can't help with proper police work, so I've just been hanging about. I only wish I could do more to help... you know, earn my keep."

He hopes Bolton knows that He delights in involving Theon in his... deviancies. The actual work, what He does of it, really is kept away from Theon's vicinity, so hopefully Bolton will think that Theon's lack of anything to do is because his son is working too hard at being productive to pay that much attention to him.

Bolton raises his eyebrows, then gives his son something approaching a smile. It makes His eyes light up, a little.

"Well, I'm sure I can find something for you to fill your time with," he says.

Theon is relieved, though when Bolton leaves he's sure he sees the smile drop—when His back is turned and Bolton doesn't know Theon's looking. Bolton doesn't really believe him; he's far too sharp for that.

But He believes he does, and He thanks Theon for his loyalty.

Then He hurts him, for buying a coke that He didn't say Theon could have.

 

4.

The next time Theon attends a function for all the important people of the realm— _What's Theon of all people doing there? He isn't important; he isn't anything at all_ —he finds it difficult to recognise the other people who've attended.

The Starks aren't there, for one. The insurance for the main house, the one He—no, the one _Theon_ burned down, had fallen through. Of course it had, it had been done through the Lannisters in the first place. 

They could have taken the matter to a higher authority, or at least they could have before Robert Baratheon had dropped dead of a heart attack. Right now no one really knew who the higher authority was supposed to be; they just followed Tywin Lannister because he had the most money. Ned Stark was in jail, his brother-in-law was under house arrest and the rest of the family were nowhere to be seen.

Well, he supposes Jon is still at the Wall. For whatever that's worth, it's not like any of them are going to speak to him anymore.

That friend of Sansa's is there though, Jeyne Poole. She's talking to Him right now, and Theon wishes that he could go over and tell her to stay well away, but even if he managed to get her alone, he knows He would find out somehow. Better to take the chance that He's just passing the time.

He still hasn't lost interest in Theon, after all.

Apart from the various Freys scuttling back and forth it's a mostly Northern gathering. The Greatjon was implicated in the same business as the Starks and ended up in jail as well, and his son disappeared along with Robb and some of the others, but old Hother Whoresbane is there, along with some of his people.

Barbrey Dustin too, talking to Roose like they're old friends, and perhaps they are, if Roose is capable of the human feeling known as friendship. The one other major figure in this part of town is out of sight though, which is strange given just how major his _figure_ is.

"I don't believe it!"

Ah. Out of sight because he was right behind him. Some of the welts on Theon's side burn as he turns around.

"Theon Greyjoy. We were afraid you'd vanished off the face of the earth!"

 _Afraid?_ Theon wants to ask, because he knows it's probably quite the opposite in reality, no one worships the Starks more than the Manderlys, and if Theon hadn't burned their house down they wouldn't be in the mess they were in right now. 

As it is, he says nothing, waiting for Manderly to make whatever point he wants to make.

"Where have you been hiding out? Not with Bolton's bastard, surely? We'd heard something along those lines but—"

"What are you, an idiot? Don't call him that!" Theon hisses; but there's more fear than anger in his voice.

A few people around them turn their heads at the noise, but every one of them turns back a second later, or less. Without thinking, Theon searches again for Him, and finds him looking right at him. He's _seen_. That's bad. Had He heard? Because that would be much worse, and even if He hadn't someone who had heard might tell Him.

 

Christ, what is he going to do?

"Yes," says Manderly. "He does get a bit out of sorts when it comes to his origins, doesn't he?"

Theon doesn't quite understand why Manderly is talking to him. Certainly not why there's something approaching... _pity_ in the man's eyes, where there should be only contempt.

"Living with him must be difficult," Manderly continues. "Especially as you don't get to see your old people that often, I expect. I heard your sister was picked up by Stannis Baratheon's office, released on bail for the time being but the arraignment's coming up."

The look on his face must say it all.

"You hadn't heard? Roose Bolton was rather unhappy about the whole thing; says she was picked up in his jurisdiction, should have been his case—"

"No!" Theon exclaims. This time not loud enough to attract attention, which is a blessing, but then Stannis Baratheon might being many things, but he's not Roose Bolton. The father was not the son, but he was bad enough in his own way, as he'd told Theon himself, in his own words.

Manderly frowns and tilts his head, and Theon prays he doesn't inquire further.

"You're right, lad," he says, and picks a cocktail sausage from the buffet with a toothpick, then eats it. "With what was happening in Deepwood Motte, it does rather fall under federal jurisdiction. That's Stannis' domain, as he is so fond of reminding me."

With an over-exaggerated shudder, Manderly starts pouring himself a glass of wine. Another glass of wine, from the looks of things.

Why he's mentioning Stannis Baratheon so pointedly is another mystery. Theon has heard Bolton tell his son that Stannis is now the only spanner left in the Lannisters' works, but he's nothing to do with Theon, and neither—if the fall of the Stark family really doesn't bother him—is Manderly.

"Blasted man still thinks I had something to do with Davos Seaworth's disappearance. I told him he should rather have been looking into the absence of a young lad from your neck of the woods. Wex, or so I've been told the boy's name is."

For a moment, Theon isn't sure whether his heart's still beating or not. Wex had been with him that night, him and some of the others who were now all locked up. He hadn't heard that Wex had been found or even that they were looking for him, hadn't thought of him at all until Manderly just mentioned him out of the blue.

But Wex could alibi him. He could. He could tell them it wasn't him and it wouldn't just be his word against His. If Manderly knew that—if Manderly had Wex, and a way to get the both of them under Stannis Baratheon's protection...

No.

No, this is a trick.

"You do know this boy, I believe?"

_"What are you doing here, love?"_

_"I—I'm sorry!"_

_"Didn't you hear me? What are you doing here?"_

_"I... there was..."_

_"...A text? Yes?"_

_"I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry!"_

_"A text from Arnolf Karstark? Who you must have heard we suspected of being disloyal, you were at that table, by my side, which is where you should be. So why did I find you out here?"_

_"Please, I'm yours, I'm yours, I want to stay by your side, I swear it!"_

_"It's a lucky thing for you that DCI Karstark is loyal to us after all. Lucky for me he was kind enough to send that text for me, telling you to meet him here if you wanted to leave this place. Lucky I know now we have a lot more work to do."_

It's a trick. Just like the last time it was a trick. Manderly is working for the Boltons, and He probably gave him a lifetime's supply of steak and pizza just to ensure that Theon really was loyal to Him now.

Theon won't let himself be thought of as disloyal. Never that.

"Don't know him," he says. It doesn't matter whether Manderly believes him or not, not if he's working for Bolton too.

It's strange how that makes Manderly look _sad_ of all things.

"It is difficult though," he prompts. "Living with... that person."

Every bruise and scrape and cut is burning in Theon's skin. For a moment the leg with the wound he's beginning to worry is becoming infected trembles, and he's afraid he'll lose his balance. It hurts him like nothing has ever hurt him before.

"Not at all," he says. The glass he's holding slips through his shaking fingers, but he doesn't notice. "He's been very kind to me."

 

5.

"What the bloody hell is this supposed to be!?"

 _It's a flash drive, you wanker,_ Theon wants to say, but he's distracted by just who it is that's yelling at him.

"Stark?" he says.

And yes; there, leaping out of nowhere like a ghost (and maybe he is at that), with not much difference in the near-year since they saw each other at that stupid party but a ridiculous-looking beard, is Robb Stark. There's rage in his eyes and voice, so maybe he's there to finally take revenge for all Theon's terrible crimes. Well, he could live in hope anyway.

"What the fuck, Theon?!"

Theon? For a worrying moment he doesn't recognise the word. It's been a while since anyone dropped by to remind him of it; He certainly never uses it anymore. At any rate, Theon has no idea what Robb's talking about, so he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"I heard Walder Frey cut your head off and threw you in a river." It's true, he has heard that. "That or he'd slit your throat and thrown your mother in a river. Or he cut your dog's head off and threw your uncle in a river, I've heard a lot of strange things to be honest."

In the old days he might have sounded snide as he'd said something like that. But all he can hear now is a voice that's nervous and rambling, and high-pitched enough that he's not sure it's his anymore than he's sure of his name. 

How had Robb found him anyway? He's still staring at him, and it's more than anger, and he's not sure that anger is meant for him anyway. There's horror.

"Robb, we shouldn't be out here."

It takes longer for Theon to recognise the other interloper, he hadn't seen him 'til he'd spoken just then, all his attention had been on Robb waving a flash drive in front of him like it was evidence of his crimes.

He's in uniform, hair short and clean shaven, and his face is scarred—two lines over the eyes that weren't there before. Eyes filled with years that hadn't been there before either, far more than had actually passed.

"Snow?" he says. "The fuck are you doing here?"

Jon Snow barely glances at him before turning his attention back to Robb.

"If one of Bolton's people sees you out here..."

He trails off because he doesn't need to go any further, for Robb or for Theon. If any of His people find out about this and think that Theon _arranged_ to meet with Robb... well, he'd rather not think any further.

But Robb ignores Snow and keeps his attention fixed on Theon. Hah. There's a twist.

"This was on the internet!" he shouts at him.

It's shouted as if he expects Theon to know what 'this' actually is, and the worst thing is that as soon as he says it Theon _does_ know what he's talking about; he knows it all too well. His brain blanks out for a few seconds, and a part of him wants to make some kind of joke about how Robb might have found that video.

Only, these days jokes like that don't get as far as words for Theon. All he can do is shrug, pretend exasperation and giggle like an idiot, as if the whole thing was a joke.

And Robb clearly doesn't know how to respond. His anger is slipping away completely as his horror grows.

"Seriously, Theon—what the fuck?!"

_"Th—the camera? I don't understand... I—"_

_"Oh that's just to record this for posterity. I suppose I could share it with a few friends though... for a profit. Father's always going on about taking more initiative with regards to business, and I know a lot of people would love to see it."_

_"Please... please don't."_

_"That doesn't appeal to you? What would you do for me then, to avoid sharing our private moments?"_

_"Anything. I swear, I'll do anything, just please don't..."_

_"BZZZT! Wrong answer! You should be happy to have me share you with anyone I want, because it's what I want and I thought you wanted to make me happy? Well, it was going to be a forty minute episode, but I think I'll make it a full hour now!"_

Theon hadn't thought he'd actually put it on the internet though. Gods, everyone must have seen it by now—his father, his uncles, his sister, Ned Stark, everyone. Everyone's _seen_.

And fuck, Bolton's probably seen it by now too, and he won't like it; he really won't like it.

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no._

"Robb, what if he meant to lure you out? And if your mum realises you're gone she'll come after us and then she'll be in danger too. Robb!"

Snow puts his hand on his half-brother's shoulder and tries to pull him back from Theon. For the first few moments Robb is stuck fast, but then he gives, throws the flash drive on the pavement, turns, and runs back down the street.

For a moment Snow seems too stunned to follow. He picks up the flash drive, but only so he can drop it down a gutter, as if that will make a difference.

There's a long silence.

"It's illegal, you know," he says. "Even if you gave your consent, under Northern law what happened in that tape was illegal."

Something's changed about Snow. Not like Theon's changed, not like that at all, but two years ago Snow would have followed Robb without looking back. Either way, there's no chance _he_ would be working for Bolton.

Is there?

"Special effects," Theon stammers out. "Camera angles, fake blood, that sort of thing. You don't think I'd be into that stuff for real, do you? I just need the money."

Snow narrows his eyes, but then nods. Maybe he is working for Bolton after all? No, that's insane. Insane. Insane. It rhymes with Jeyne. Theon hopes she isn't on the video too.

A few seconds later, Snow turns to leave, and Theon is hoping it's over. It's not. Snow still has one last thing to say.

"You know, some of that fake blood is staining your jeans."

 _Shit_ thinks Theon. 

He'd been worried that wound wasn't closing properly.

 

+1

It's so cold Theon's half afraid the skin on his feet will start burning every time they touch the pavement. He's already sure some of the welts He'd left have broken open, and his soles are bleeding, but he has no choice but to keep moving.

Even if there's nowhere for him to go.

Even if he couldn't get anywhere if there was.

The snow is falling softly, not enough to settle—thank god. Theon's wrapped his bare arms around his bare chest and shoulders as he walks, enduring the pain from the cuts for the modicum of warmth it brings him. His groin hurts the worst, no surprise, but his hip is a close second and the skin around the wound is red and inflamed.

Maybe he'll get gangrene and die. The thought makes him laugh under his breath, which clouds out into the air like so much smoke from a building he may as well have burned down himself, for all the difference it made.

His back doesn't hurt so much. There are probably more wounds there than anywhere else, but He told him once that there were fewer nerve endings in the back than elsewhere on the body. It hadn't felt like that when the cat was being brought down on it, but maybe it accounts for now.

Fingertips were some of the worst, He'd said. Then He'd started on them.

It's strangely empty, the streets leading off Dread Fort Road. Theon thinks he's moving in the direction of the Kingsroad, but there doesn't seem to be anyone around. Of course if there had been they'd have called the police by now, so he should be glad there's no one there to watch the nearly-naked man stumble down the street like an idiot.

Snowflakes swirl in the light that's flaring out from a street lamp, like ash lit up by flames, but then the lamp flickers and starts to die. He tries to speed up so he's not walking in the dark, but his leg threatens to buckle again and he keeps to his steadier, shuffling pace.

Christ. He's walking like a _zombie_

He remembers watching zombie movies with Robb, and Jon though he never liked the gory bits. One time, just before Ned Stark got that new job, they'd snuck Arya and Bran in with them and Arya had been laughing at Jon's squeamishness. That had been hilarious.

The wind blows and he tries to wrap his arms around himself tighter. His fingers had been hurting with the cold but now they're going numb again, which he's guessing is a bad sign, and when he tries to clench them the handcuff on his right wrist jangles.

It had been a stroke of luck, he supposed, that Bolton's fury over _that_ video hitting the internet had made Him so furious in turn that he'd... gone at Theon with enough force to break the frame and not notice it.

Theon doesn't really remember leaving the house, or know how long he's been walking away from it. 

_"This is all your fault, pet. You know that, don't you?"_

_"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!_

So many 'I'm sorry's. Not one of them was ever listened to.

It's just when he's beginning to realise he can't walk in a straight line anymore that he hears the car pull up. He knows it's Him. Probably there to really kill him now—if he was lucky He might just forget about trying to get him into the car and run him over. Too bad he's never been lucky...

Except...

"Excuse me? Can you help me, sir?"

The voice isn't His. It isn't even local—Lorathi? No, Braavosi. Arya's dancing master had been the same.

Theon stops, though he's not sure he has the strength to start again. The car beside him is absurdly expensive-looking, a make from overseas that he'd have known once. Dothraki model, probably. The man peeking out from the window is approaching middle-age, and has a long stupid beard that Theon doesn't have the strength to laugh at.

"Ah," he says. "Thank you for your time, I was wondering—is the Kingsroad near here?"

Kingsroad? Yes, that's where Theon is trying to get to as well. He still knows vaguely where he is, and he's going in the right direction, as long as he turns left at the end of this street and keeps going until...

Hang on. Isn't the man in the car at all curious about the fact that he's getting directions from a man wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, a pair of handcuffs, and a few dozen pairs of agonising wounds?

Is it a trick?

"Can you help?" the man asks again.

Can anyone? But Theon tries to ignore the cut on his lip and the jaw he's afraid is broken, and trembling, he speaks.

"It... it's around here somewhere..." he says. "I..."

He expects the strange man to huff, roll his window up and carry on driving, but instead the man just waits, patient and polite. And then the wind blows a small flurry of snowflakes between them, and some new madness must possess Theon because—

"Can _you_ help _me_?" he asks.

The man smiles.

"Valar dohaeris," he says, and the door to the passenger seat of his car opens.

Theon shuffles around to the door and staggers his way into the warmth of the car. He knows he shouldn't; the man's probably a serial killer or something and tomorrow Theon's corpse will be floating headless down the Twins, but the thought of everything being over by tomorrow is too tempting to pass up on.

Then he sees the stamp of the Iron Bank on the man's briefcase and smiles. _Worse by far than a serial killer—a banker_ he thinks, chuckling at his unsaid jape.

But the banker doesn't look at him strangely even then.

"This way?" he asks, heading up the road.

"Yeah," croaks Theon, through his laughter. "Turn left at the end there."

"Many thanks," the banker replies. "It was good fortune I happened upon you. I have the honour to be Tycho Nestoris, of Braavos."

"Theon Greyjoy," says Theon, and keeps on smiling because it's true.


End file.
